


Gold Lie Promises

by tsuritsu



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M, Not really any spoilers tbh, Pre Lady Midnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuritsu/pseuds/tsuritsu
Summary: "There is no part of me, however, that could stand to see you suffer. While i cannot heal the pain that has already been wrought, I would never wish further torment upon you."Kieran has a habit of making promises he can't keep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wow can't believe my first fic on this account is gay introspective bullshit Who Would've Guessed
> 
> The title is a line from Glory and Gore by Lorde, which i would recommend listening too while reading for the Full Experience.

Mark Blackthorn was a wild, broken thing. From the mismatched eyes that marked him as one of the Hunt, to the thick scars that drew a map across his skin - there was very little of him that not been tainted by his time among the Fae.

At times, Kieran wondered what the other had been like before he had been stolen away from his family. He had been loved, cared for, protected - to have that all torn away from him in such a violent fashion ... it was no surprise he had shattered as he did. The sight of it almost made Kieran thankful that he'd had nothing to lose; none who cared for him, whose absence would bring him to loathe the Hunt such as the Shadowhunter did.

He knew he should wish Mark had never been taken, had been left in peace to grow up without knowing the pain that each raised line across his skin spoke of - but he couldn't bring himself to. Kieran was far too selfish, far too wanting, and there was very little in his life that he coveted so strongly.

It was familiar fingers on his jaw that drew him from his introspection, turning to find himself reflected in the sheen of a single golden mirror, balanced by blue on its left.

"What thought is it that has you looking so forlorn, my prince?"  
Mark's voice was low, a lilt of humour colouring the title. From anyone else's lips it would have been an insult, but Mark made it a thing of affection, laced with the respect that such a name once earnt him.

Leaning into the cool hand that still drew across his cheek, Kieran let his eyes flutter shut with a small sigh.  
"I was thinking about you. What could have been and should have been."

His answer was cryptic, as the replies of the Fae often were, but Mark had lived enough years amongst these creatures that he understood. Gently, he leant to press a soft kiss to the forehead of the faerie prince, watching as the others eyelids fluttered open once again. Waiting for the moment that they met his, Mark moved to crouch before Kieran, his hands looping through the others.

"Dwelling on the threads of possibility is a futile excercise; I spent many months before your arrival cursing the Angel for my fate. There has been far too much pain in my life for me not to question what i did to deserve this punishment."

His gaze had lowered as he spoke, concentrated instead on their entertwined hands, a mess of slim fingers and scarred palms. Now though, he raised his eyes to meet Kieran's.  
"However, there has also been love. A kind of love I did not know of before encountering you."

The dark haired boy was silent for a few moments, searching Mark's eyes for any signs of untruth. When he found none, he breathed out heavily, heart beating faster. When he spoke, he kept his tone level, still guarded. "Kisses cannot heal wounds, nor fade scars."

His reply was a gentle laugh, split with dark humour, but entertained nonetheless.  
"There is little of this world that can. Even the marks of the angel leave scars. You cannot heal me, but for you, I would face these wounds many times over."

The air between them was tense with their unspoken words, heavy on Kieran's shoulders even as the golden haired boy at his feet drew them into his lungs with a deep breath, spoke them into being.  
"I love you, Kieran Kingson, Kieran of the Hunt - whatever name or form you may take. I love you violently and painfully, and I fear that being parted from you would wound me more than any torture i have endured before this point."

There were a few long moments where Mark wondered if he had wrongly gauged the situation, had misread the soft looks that accompanied their heated touches. But the fears passed instantaneously as Kieran slid to the ground before him, all but landing in his lap, face twisting into a rare smile. His eyes shone with joy, lips parting and hands running across Mark's shoulder blades, his jawline, his temples.  
"I return your affections Mark Blackthorn. That is to say; I love you too."

With a laugh and a quick kiss pressed to the Shadowhunter boy's lips, he drew back once more. His expression grew a touch more serious, fingers curling around his lover's forearms.  
"There is no part of me, however, that could stand to see you suffer. While i cannot heal the pain that has already been wrought, I would never wish further torment upon you."

Kieran's grip was firm as he spoke, and Mark felt the force of his sincerity; strong enough that he would have know the other spoke the truth even without the inability of the Fae to speak lies. After a breath, he continued.  
"I swear that I will protect you. I will never let any harm come to you; you are my first love, and, fate willing, will remain so until we pass."

The oath of a faerie - Mark felt the weight of it settle across them, an unbreakable promise. His touch was gentle as he ducked to press his lips against Kieran's own once again, hands rising to cup the sides of his face. This boy, this _prince_ \- for some unknowable reason, he had chosen Mark. Had chosen him to love and protect. In time, Mark would ask why, would voice his query beneath the safety of the stars and the blankets that they shared. For now, however, it was enough to share the same breath, to feel cool skin against his palms, and to know that, despite everything, he was loved.

 


End file.
